


Alchemy

by GenesisArclite



Category: Deus Ex (Video Games), Deus Ex: Mankind Divided
Genre: F/M, Friendship/Love, Post-Canon, Romance, Romantic Fluff, Secret Relationship, Sexual Content, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-11
Updated: 2019-03-11
Packaged: 2019-11-15 20:00:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18079985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GenesisArclite/pseuds/GenesisArclite
Summary: It's Adam's birthday, and as he heads home after a late night at the office, he knows he's not going home to an empty, silent apartment anymore. There's someone waiting for him this time, and there's nothing more precious to them than the few moments of peace they can seize in such chaotic times.





	Alchemy

It was an unusually cold winter night in Prague, plunging into the lower twenties, but cold enough that everyone in the city was warned to let the tap drip at night if they had no other way to keep pipes from freezing. It was a cold Adam was well used to, having grown up in Detroit’s harsh winters and deadly polar vortices, yet he still felt it, rough as knives in his skin, as he walked home after a late night at the office.

His augmentations always ran warm, and the addition of the experimental ones, even with his systems having been adjusted, ran him a degree or two warmer still than stock. The contrast between the temperatures and his own body was so vast that it hurt; he folded his arms against his chest, hands tucked against his ribs, as cold, damp air clawed every inch of exposed skin or shell it could find.

A ride in the metro warmed him up, carrying him to Prekazka, and he had to resist the urge to run back to his apartment as he crossed the plaza and carefully avoided sour-faced officers.

The long hours were hardly ones he wished for. Once upon a time, he hadn’t minded them, enjoying the opportunity to occupy his mind and keep his body moving. Long into the night, on few hours of sleep, he would work at his desk, or wherever he was needed. He could be shipped off to the other side of the world or into some dark part of Prague’s extensive metropolitan area, and he would never mind. Friday nights meant nothing to him, really, bringing him home to a cold bed and darkened television he switched on to relax from the stresses of the day.

What waited for him tonight, though, was better than anything he could find on television, better than his sheets and a quiet room, better than the silence had enjoyed for so long.

As he entered the courtyard of his complex, he could already feel the tension easing out of his body.

His hands wouldn’t be cold much longer.

Even MacReady had given him an odd look on the way out, much as he had for weeks now, as Adam ducked responsibility that would keep him for hours more on a Friday night, eager to go home. Many others had already left, offices dark and work forgotten. His TL could do little except swat at him, giving up on asking him to stay at all, as Adam left the office and out the front doors as quickly and _quietly_ as he could. He knew MacReady suspected what was really going on, but for some reason, he did not feel the need to discuss it directly.

The last flight of steps made his stomach flip over and heart skip a beat. It had only been a week. That was why he was anxious, of course. It was just unusual, his new situation, something he hadn’t had in nearly seven years, and he just had to get _used_ to it. Sharing his apartment with another person, night after night, no longer coming home to silence and shadow, was such a drastic change that of _course_ he was anxious.

But though he knew that was true, there was something else there, lingering in peaceful quiet below the turbulent surface: desire. A feeling he hadn’t experienced in far, _far_ too long.

The anxiety arose from the memory of skin, of pleasant scents, dark eyes and warm lips, sleek hair under his fingers, the sound of her enjoying every moment of himself that he gave over to her the one night they’d had time for. He _wanted_ to give her everything, _wanted_ her to take and take and _take_ from him, loved the brightness of her smile and the sound of her laugh, flashes of reality and normalcy in an increasingly chaotic world.

At his door, he hesitated, much longer than necessary, before slowly inputting his keycode. When it unlocked, he pushed the door open, listening to the familiar and faint creak of the hinges, stepped inside, and breathed a sigh of relief as the warmth of his apartment heater rolled over him, gentle across wind-tendered skin.

He shrugged off the coat and hung it up before looking around.

The only lights on were the ones in the kitchen, a pool of golden light giving everything a dreamlike glow. The blinds were closed, and shadows blanketed the living area, plunging everything into comfortable darkness. There was no other sound beyond that of the ventilation cycling; his eyes adjusted to the darkness, and he stepped forward, toward the couch perched before the television, his stomach tied in a knot.

“You’re late, you know.” The woman on the couch, covered up to her chin under one of his coats, smiled up at him, her face surrounded by shower-tousled hair, long lashes framing dark eyes that met his with a spark of mischief. At the sound of her voice, he felt all the remaining tension dissipate, and he knew the look he gave her was one of love from the way she gazed back at him, the unmistakable gaze of shyness and desire.

“Aria, hey...” He returned her smile, reaching out to stroke his fingers through her hair. “...you beat me here.”

The smile shifted a little, the mischief spreading to her lips; he raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, well, I wanted a chance to enjoy our Friday evening. It’s past nine. I fell asleep.”

He chuckled, giving her hair a slight tug. “Just gonna shower, then I’ll come back.” As he stepped back, he looked her over and realized the coat covered her entire body, knees pulled up close to her chest as she sat with her back to the sofa arm. It was a pose that shielded her completely from his eyes, and as his gaze returned to hers, the smile became a smirk, and she pulled the coat closer around her. “Aria, what–”

“Go take your shower,” she told him, fighting her smirk, “then come back, okay?”

Again, his eyes drifted. The coat had been pulled tight enough to show the outline of her body and prevent any glimpse of whatever she wore underneath – not surprising, considering their height difference – and as he studied her, another thought entered his mind, and he looked back at her, the eyebrow rising again.

Her lips twitched. “I want to enjoy tonight.”

The thought invaded again, and his body reacted to it, sending a flush across his skin that finally compelled him to turn away. As he pulled his shirt up over his head and tossed it into the laundry basket, he had to blink away the haze and forced himself to focus on the shower first.

It had been so long since he’d known a woman’s body that the very _thought_ was enough to set every nerve alight and a shiver down his spine, prickling to the ends of his fingers, loosening knots of tension while reminding him of the places of his body that were still completely and wholly _human_.

He flexed his fingers, stripped the rest of his clothing off, and got in.

The hot water fogged the bathroom and clouded the windows, giving him privacy in the dim glow from the single light. It washed away the last of the painful cold from his body, drawing a soft moan of pleasure when his nerves finally stopped complaining of the unpleasant temperatures. He chose a rose-scented wash and smoothed it over every inch of his body, knowing it was one his newly-wedded wife adored.

That thought gave him pause. _Wife_. They had married in secret, but they were bound, after a long courtship compounded by justified paranoia and long-buried fear. Only a week ago had they sealed it, and only that night had she started staying at his apartment through to morning, neglecting her own in favor of his spacious bed and the warmth of his embrace when she slept, content just to be in his presence, as he was in hers.

They could lie together and be happy knowing the other was near, or spend hours talking long into the night until heavy lids and the call of sleep finally silenced them.

They had only used the bed once for something other than sleep, and that had been on the very first day. Since then, there just hadn’t been time to spare or enough energy in either of their bodies to enjoy one another’s, so they found solace instead in warm embraces and falling asleep together.

He rinsed the body wash and found the scent of roses lingering – _real_ roses, not a synthetic scent, purchased for a pretty penny at a local shop he’d begun to frequent out of sheer curiosity. They did not normally cater to augs, but the owner also didn’t turn his nose up at good money, so he shopped in respectful quiet, speaking only when needed, not calling attention to himself, and left in a sweep of shadow and flash of an expensive coat.

Even the bottle was beautiful, shapely, with a prim white label stamped with red roses.

He switched off the shower, dried off, reached for his pants... and decided against it, hanging up the towel and walking back out into the still-darkened living area.

Aria peered over the back of the couch; her eyes darted down and lingered before going back to his face, the smirk returning to her lips. “Good,” she murmured. “Care to join me?”

He snorted softly and went to the other end of the couch to sit. The feeling of being so utterly exposed in front of another person, and moreover, a _woman_ , was one he was not yet accustomed to, but he trusted her, implicitly, _completely_ , and knew it was just nerves. “Sure,” he said, and switched on the television.

A rustle of fabric drew his attention, in time to see her sit up and shrug off the coat before laying it on the back of the couch. As he had suspected, she wore nothing at all beneath it, a faint blush darkening her skin as she moved closer to him until she lay against his side. What completely wrecked his thoughts, though, was that she chose not to sit shoulder-to-shoulder, but to face him, arms around his neck, chin resting on his deltoid. With his arm positioned between her breasts, he could feel her heart, pounding against her sternum and through to his synthetic muscle.

Whatever was onthe television was suddenly far less interesting than what she had so casually done to him.

He faced her, embracing her waist, and pulled her onto his lap, indulging in the curve of her neck while she chuckled and nuzzled the line of his jaw. Something droned in the background, mindless static to his exploration of her body, letting his hands grow bold as they moved down her waist and over her hips.

Her hands smoothed over his arms, thumbs following the groove between two groups of synthetic muscle, sending ripples of pleasure and feeling up into his body.

Aria had no fear of his augmentations. She didn’t even really see them, not the way most people did, exploring and touching and curiously searching to see if they had real feeling. Once she discovered they did, she’d stopped noticing that they were made of carbon and plastic, telling him they were beautiful like the rest of him, never uncertain when he reached for her, never shying away when his fingers wandered to sensitive places. She certainly hadn’t minded when they’d made love, the only barriers being their own anxious excitement.

The lines of her body relaxed under the slow strokes of his fingers down her back; she sighed and shifted position so that her shoulder rested against his chest, turning enough to see the television clearly. Her left arm fell to his, fingers entwining, while her right stayed around his neck despite a slightly awkward angle.

“You’re not cold?” he muttered.

“You’re a living heater.” She looked at him with a slight smirk. “Couldn’t be cold if I wanted to be.”

After finding something worth his attention on a local channel, he wrapped his arms around her again and pulled her against him, making her squeak softly before she rested her head on his chest, arms now in her lap.

Every inch of his body, synthetic shell included, could feel. Sarif had given him powerful military augmentations, yet made sure to fill them with synthetic nerves that mimicked organic ones to near perfection. He could feel the brush of her hair on his chest, the soft expanse of skin that was her thighs across his own, every tiny twitch of muscle and tendons when she made the slightest movement. Though all of his limbs had been replaced and his skin heavily modified, he wanted for little, and could never recall if he actually lacked feeling anymore.

His attention was then wrenched from the television when her hand of flesh slid up his thigh to his hip, tracing the hyper-sensitive boundary between carbon and skin there. Though he stopped himself from audibly reacting, the fingers of his right hand still flexed, curling against his palm, clenching tight when her fingers followed the line downward to his thigh and so very close to the only unmodified section of his body.

“Waiting for you felt like forever,” she said, so quietly that he barely heard her, and stroked his abdomen and the inside of his thigh. “We don’t get enough time together.”

“The world’s different now.” He bent his head to press his forehead to her temple. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’m just happy you came back before ten.”

He smiled and tightened his embrace, wanting nothing more than to press every inch of _her_ against every inch of _him_ , and feeling her turn into him, one leg now folding and settling between his thighs. The pressure in that sensitive place made his already prickling nerves heat up again; he felt himself flush once more.

The program on the television was one they usually enjoyed watching, syndicated in English with Czech subtitles, imported from UK. She was listening, he could tell, but her interest was turned entirely to him, and he felt her breathing slowing and her pulse calming the longer he held her. The difference in body heat between them, though, wasn’t half as radical as he was used to; he looked to find her skin a little darker than usual, a hint of red and pink having spread across her pale skin and betraying what she truly felt.

Tonight, he didn’t have to think about work, or the world, or the Illuminati, or the Juggernaut Collective. Nothing existed beyond the walls of his – of _their_ – apartment at all.

Turning his face into her, he drowned out his concerns and silenced his worries by tasting her skin, absorbing her warmth and her scent, so wrapped up in every inch of her body that he could not have been concerned with anything else if he made even the slightest effort. She liked when he kissed her neck and under her jaw, so he did, listening to her breathe deep and softly moan, feeling her fingertips press into the muscle along the backs of his shoulders.

“Good,” she mumbled, “you’re _not_ too tired.”

Her tone made him curious. “You got something in mind, Aria?”

“Well...” Leaning back, she looked at him, the mischievous smirk unmistakable. “...it’s your birthday, after all, isn’t it?”

That realization made his brow rise again. “Aria, what’re you thinking?”

“I’m _thinking_ that you give me so much. _So_ much. You give me all of you, all the time, and I feel... I feel like I should give _something_ in return, you know? So... so I’m going to.” Before he could put together what she was suggesting, she pressed a finger to his lips. “Does that TV have a privacy mode?”

“It... ah... well, uh–” The words toppled over his lips as though he were blind drunk, his body reacting to her words and the dawning realization of what she wanted to do. It was almost uncomfortable, leaving him feeling more exposed than ever, but it was her, it was _Aria_ , and he loved her and trusted her. He wanted to be with her. Who was he to deny her something that she _wanted_ to give? “Yeah... yeah, I can... I can block inbound calls.”

“Good.” Her cheeks were flushed, but her eyes sparkled. “Can you turn it to private and switch the thing off?”

He did as she asked, and his hand moved to her jaw, tipping it up, as he kissed her, openmouthed, fingers in her hair, feeling her explore his lips and tongue with her own as she clung to his arms. The myriad sensations – her pounding heart, the softness of her skin, the strength in her lean muscle – pulled him away from everything.

Then her mouth left his, going to his jaw, down his neck, their fingers entwining tightly. “Things are getting worse every day,” she breathed against his skin. “This might be all the time we get. Tomorrow, and the next day, there’s the Collective. There’s the Illuminati. There’s everything that’s trying to kill you, and the risk that they’ll find me.”

She continued downward; he tried to control his breathing, but he could feel the need and desire and _love_ radiating off her, and it was overwhelming, and he wanted it, wanted her, wanted _everything_.

He didn’t usually like to do this. Turning over control for a body he had only barely gotten used to calling “his own”, having to trust that she wouldn’t do anything to hurt him... it terrified him, in a raw, primal way that made him tense.

Until her fingers squeezed his, and he felt no more fear.

“But not tonight, Adam.” She kept going, further and further, blinding him with a searing fire, with the torment of having to _wait_ , of knowing she was going to take her time, of knowing he was _completely_ at her mercy. “Tonight, it’s just you and me. I love you. Let _me_ decide what happens.”

He gasped out some sort of reply, lost in the sensation of her hands on his thighs and mouth landing _there_ , oh, _there_ , right _there_ , before he lost all sense of self and reality and thought, spinning out, drowning, and the only thing that mattered, and would ever, ever matter, was _her_.


End file.
